The follower

The Mercedes behind had its lights dimmed, its sleek, black body blending into the background. I parked my car. The Mercedes followed suit. Anxious to escape from the sight of the driver, I cut through the overgrown woodland, a shortcut to the house. I listened for footsteps behind me.

Silence. Apart from an odd thud in the distanceÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ

I entered the house, locking the door behind me, searching for the sack of white powder I had hidden so carefully. Each step seemed to take longer than the last, and each time, I felt a pang of fear.

Crack. Crack. Crack. What was that noise?

Five steps away. Four. Three.

I heard the bang. The room went pitch black. I could smell the smoke creeping under the doorways.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Crash.

The front door had been broken down. I saw the silhouette of the man entering, sending a cold chill down my spine. I was trapped inside my own home.

I ripped the drawer out, pulling out the longest knife in my disposal. It felt safer to be armed. Nevertheless, I almost screamed when the shadow came closer.

It was dark. The manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s shadow had blended into the darkness of the floor.

Suddenly, a torrent of air came rushing down as a weapon came hurtling down inches from my face.

Instinctively, I ran into the bathroom, diving into the restroom, slamming the door shut.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

He was getting closer, but I was armed. If he tried to open the door, a twelve inch knife would be thrust into his corpse. Twenty times.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

He was beside the door, waiting for me to make a move.

I waited. Ten seconds. TwentyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâæOne minute. He was still there. The bathroom door slammed shut.

Crap. I thought. I donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t even know if heÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s in here or not.

I opened the door an inch. His weapon slammed down through the gap, nearly battering my hand off. It was some kind of mace. He withdrew the weapon.

The door opened and slammed shut again.

This time I stood still, my weapon poised to attack. I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t dare to open the door.

The shower taps turned on. The man was toying with me. Or maybe not.

Now I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hear his footsteps, but I knew he was still in here- waiting.

Rattatatta.Rattatatta.Rattatatta.

The shower water poured down, pounding the shower walls, making a rapping sound as it bounced off the walls.

I waited. Five minutes. Ten.

Rattatatta.Rattatatta.Rattatatta.

My hands ached. My arms were tired. The grip on my knife was loosening.

Crash. Something had been broken. Somewhere distantÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ

He wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t in the bathroom!

I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hear the bathroom door opening because of the shower.

I should have made the move now, but I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t.

Fear. Anxiety. The question- What if he got me?

ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅWhere is it?ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

I loved this story. The italics for sound effects and important lines really made the difference. The imagery such as "The shadows danced, casting illusions" and "A pool of red rose from the surface of the water" burned images that I could visualize. Overall, very good work, and can't wait to read your next.

~ Haxx Own

- The Bacon Man